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Back Snow Creek Save as PDF
Chapters (57)
  1. Books by Gregg Olsen
  2. Dedication
  3. Prologue
  4. One
  5. Two
  6. Three
  7. Four
  8. Five
  9. Six
  10. Seven
  11. Eight
  12. Nine
  13. Ten
  14. Eleven
  15. Twelve
  16. Thirteen
  17. Fourteen
  18. Fifteen
  19. Sixteen
  20. Seventeen
  21. Eighteen
  22. Nineteen
  23. Twenty
  24. Twenty-One
  25. Twenty-Two
  26. Twenty-Three
  27. Twenty-Four
  28. Twenty-Five
  29. Twenty-Six
  30. Twenty-Seven
  31. Twenty-Eight
  32. Twenty-Nine
  33. Thirty
  34. Thirty-One
  35. Thirty-Two
  36. Thirty-Three
  37. Thirty-Four
  38. Thirty-Five
  39. Thirty-Six
  40. Thirty-Seven
  41. Thirty-Eight
  42. Thirty-Nine
  43. Forty
  44. Forty-One
  45. Forty-Two
  46. Forty-Three
  47. Forty-Four
  48. Forty-Five
  49. Forty-Six
  50. Forty-Seven
  51. Forty-Eight
  52. Forty-Nine
  53. Fifty
  54. Hear More from Gregg
  55. Books by Gregg Olsen
  56. A Letter from Gregg
  57. Acknowledgements

Regina sat awhile, thinking. Her eye. She couldn’t go to the hospital. She made her way, nearly stumbling as she walked, to the bathroom. She took off her clothes, took a bottle of hydrogen peroxide and washed herself in the outdoor shower.

She tried not to cry. It hurt so much. Without a nanosecond of delay, Regina stepped away from the water, leaned back and poured the contents of the bottle into her eye socket. She screamed louder than she ever had in her life. Foam collected in her where her eye had been and she poured more, again and again.

Always with a scream.

That’s when the idea came to her.

* * *

Amy doesn’t say a single word while she watches Regina mix the powdery and crystalline poison she’d used to kill the barn rats. She’s sitting up in bed, and when Regina sits next to her, Amy reaches out and touches her tenderly. She holds the juice glass with the poison; they stare straight ahead.

Regina cries from her single eye.

Amy trembles.

“I am sorry,” she whimpers.

“I know.”

“I love you, Regina. Always have.”

“Always will.”

Twenty-Nine

I can’t face the tapes right now. I can’t face going home. I think of returning Dan Anderson’s call, but that would make me feel like a jerk for not phoning sooner. So, I don’t. Instead I drive to the waterfront, to the bar, The Tides, a place Mindy and I frequented back in the day. I miss seeing her. Hayden too. My list is short.

I’m feeling sorry for myself and I know it.

My focus and my brain and yes, my emotions, should be aimed solely on the case.

I don’t know any of the staff at The Tides. I’ve hit the point in life where I’m nearing that middle part where no one sees you anymore. Service at a bar or restaurant is slower. Talking with the waiter or anyone is nonexistent. Unless I’m willing to dress a little more provocatively, I’ll always be a Soup-for-One girl.

The Tides is authentic, not one of those chains that brings in some buoys and floats with netting that had never seen seawater. It’s a converted warehouse at the end of the dock. It’s painted blue and features a broad white and navy stripe on its awning over the door. The Tides is spelled out in thin pieces of driftwood.

I go inside and find a seat. It’s next to a massive saltwater tank with a school of clown fish and others I can’t name. It soothes me as I watch the fish twirl and turn in the bubbling water. One of the fish, shaped like a disc, is iridescent blue in color. Instead of thinking bachelor’s buttons, my mind goes straight to Luminol.